I wonder
by Onhiro
Summary: A collection of drabbles wherein different people with different tools are pulled into Middle Earth to help with the quest. Not necessarily silly, but not necessarily serious, either. I am open to ideas from you, the reader!


**AN- After watching Lord of the Rings, a thought occurred to me? What if someone with the right knowledge and tools had been pulled into Middle Earth? There were actually two ideas that occurred to me, and these definitely aren't like my usual fics, and instead are much shorter. If you guys have an idea of how the ring could be destroyed using science or modern tools, feel free to review and tell me the idea, and I'll try and write it in. Currently I've only got two ideas, and will be posting them in two separate chapters.**

THE CUTTING EDGE

There was a roared shout and the sound of metal striking metal, and then the sound of shock and panic as the dwarf was blasted back from the pedestal that held the One Ring. There was a murmur of shock and of dismay from those gathered at the council. The Ring had been unaffected by a dwarf made axe…not a promising sign. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom…only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep-"

"Why?"

Elrond paused, surprised at the interruption. He looked to the Bearer of the Ring, Frodo Baggins, who had asked the question curiosity clear to see on his face. "What?"

"The Ring. Why does it have to be destroyed at Mount Doom?"

Elrond blinked, annoyed to see Mithrandir's lips twitch in an amused smile. Trust a hobbit to be curious in the why's and wherefor's of a thing. "It is there and only there that there burns a fire hot enough to melt the Ring and thus destroy it. As such, one of you must bear the Ring deep into the lands of Mor-"

"So it is only a matter of how hot a fire burns?"

This time the question came from Boromir, who had leaned forward in interest, one hand thoughtfully stroking his beard. "Yes, Boromir son of Denethor. Alas, the only fire that now burns hot enough to destroy the Ring is at Mount Doom. Mayhap a dragon's fire could have been hot enough to sunder the ring, but no dragon would willingly assist us in the quest, and after the death of the terrible Smaug, no dragon's location is known. Now, if these questions are finished, we must-"

"So let us summon fire that is hot enough!" Gimli's deep and rich voice rang out. "Surely Gandalf has knowledge aplenty on magical fires. Have him summon the fire to destroy the Ring!"

Elrond sighed, rubbing his forehead, annoyed at all the interruptions. Could they not see the gravity of the situation? Could they not let him explain what was happening, what had to be done? To his dismay the council erupted into hopeful speculation. "Mithrandir?" he asked wearily, knowing that the wizard had no spells capable of burning the Ring into oblivion. To his surprise, however, Mithrandir frowned thoughtfully.

"There may be…one spell I could use…"

xxxXXXxxx

Joe Smith of Moorhead, Minnesota whistled cheerfully as he pulled his gas powered generator and his welding equipment out of his van. His good mood was caused in part by good weather and also because of the game the day prior. The Vikings were doing great this season, and were even favorites to go to the Super Bowl. Ah, that would be great. Sliding the door shut on his van, his mind turned to the job. Smith's Welding and Cutting, owned and ran by yours truly, had been called out here to cut through an old chain that was embedded in some concrete. Didn't people think these things through? Oh, whatever, more money for him, for sure. Sniffing slightly at the brisk air, he grabbed his helmet from the front seat, gathered up his gear on his little trolley, stepped forward, and nearly had a heart attack. "What the?"

No longer in mid-November Minnesota, he only registered a small group of people, a sunny sky, and trees green with leaves before his glasses fogged up. Going from cold air to warm air fogged them up like no other, and he whipped them off his face, wiping them clear of the fog before placing them back over his eyes. What he saw perplexed him. A group of men dressed regally were gathered around a pedestal with…was that a ring? No, wait…some of these men had pointed ears, whereas other were too short…and the one who looked like a child had feet too large to be human. "Uh…hey there. What can I do ya fer?"

They all looked perplexed and began speaking to each other in a language that he didn't comprehend. It sounded old, though. As old as Anglo-Saxon, maybe. He had read Beowulf in high school, many years ago, and had gotten the audio tapes of it in its original language for fun. What was being spoken now was similar to it, he guessed. He couldn't be certain, given that he was no linguist. No linguist was he, but he wasn't stupid. The ring was surrounded by shattered metal. Someone had tried to destroy it, and had failed. Now he was here, likely by magic. There was no other feasible explanation. One moment in Minnesota, the next here. He would probably go home after destroying the ring. Yeah, no problem. Ignoring the chattering of the others, he wheeled his trolley up to the pedestal, once again whistling a cheery tune. Maybe a yankee or a southern boy would have been freaked out, but he was from the solid mid-west. Why fret over something you couldn't change. He was here, and evidently with a job to do.

With that mindset, he pulled on his helmet. "You might want to look away, things are about to get bright, fer sure," he called out, even though he knew these people probably couldn't understand him. "Don't say I didn't warn ye." Oxy-fuel cutting involved acetylene, pure oxygen, and a flame that burned at 3,500° C. It was time to get busy. He lit the torch, and adjusted the flame so that it was burning correctly. He almost laughed at how quiet the crowd got. You'd think that they'd never seen an oxyacetylene torch before. The rest was easy. Heat the metal of the ring until it glowed cherry red, and then hit the oxygen blast trigger on the torch until the oxygen reacted with the metal, melting it. It took about ten minutes until the ring was melted down into a liquid slag. He felt bad about some of the scorch marks he left on the pedestal, but when he turned to torch off and looked up, the crowd was looking at him in worshipful awe. "So, uh…yeah. Can I go home now?" The really old guy with an impressive beard said something that sounded…heavy, like the words had weight behind them.

He blinked, and to his relief he was back in front of the house he had been approaching earlier. "Oh, would you look at that." Quickly checking his tanks to make sure that he had enough to cut through a chain, he continued his way, putting the odd incident out of his mind. Just another job well done. His only regret was that those folks couldn't give him a favorable review on Angie's list or something…


End file.
